


Down Came the Rain

by gloria_scott



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble Sequence, Gen, Nightmares, Police, Rain, Triple Drabble, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-03
Updated: 2011-08-03
Packaged: 2017-10-22 04:23:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloria_scott/pseuds/gloria_scott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Replete with canon references to <a href="http://sherlock-holmes.classic-literature.co.uk/the-final-problem/">The Final Problem </a>and <a href="http://sherlock-holmes.classic-literature.co.uk/the-adventure-of-the-empty-house/">The Empty House</a>.<br/>Written for the <a href="http://sherlockmas.livejournal.com/">Summer of Sherlock</a> fest over at the sherlockmas comm on LJ.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Down Came the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Replete with canon references to [The Final Problem ](http://sherlock-holmes.classic-literature.co.uk/the-final-problem/)and [The Empty House](http://sherlock-holmes.classic-literature.co.uk/the-adventure-of-the-empty-house/).  
> Written for the [Summer of Sherlock](http://sherlockmas.livejournal.com/) fest over at the sherlockmas comm on LJ.

I.  
John dreams he is wandering alone through the dark rooms of an empty house, searching for something he can’t quite recall having lost. The rain beats a tinny, staccato rhythm on the roof and cascades down the window before him like a waterfall. Lightning flashes reveal a tall, slim shadow ghosting silently along the walls. He tries to follow, but can’t keep up. The crack of thunder tears the walls asunder and he is back in the wreck of battle. He calls Sherlock’s name, but his voice is blanketed under thick smoke and lost amid the roar of heavy fire.

II.  
Sherlock sits alone in the dark, staying well away from the rain-pelted windows and the deadly aim of watchful eyes. The silence in the flat is broken only by the crash and roll of thunder overhead. Moriarty – that black, thin-legged spider – skitters into his thoughts. How long has he been spinning this web, so fine and translucent that Sherlock was blind to the threads, even as they began to ensnare him? He’s too far behind to ever catch up. Only one option: change the rules of the game. The hunted must become the hunter. He smiles and rosins his bow.

III.  
Lestrade crouches over the body of a young man whose shattered head is framed by a crimson halo against a stark, white rug. Thunder rolls in through an open window and nearly drowns Donovan’s litany.

“…Ronald Adair. Bit of a gambler, by his mum’s reckoning. Came home at ten and locked himself away in his room. Nobody heard the shot.”

Lestrade nods, then stands and makes his way out into the rain. Staring up at the open window from across the street, he can’t shake the feeling that this poor bloke’s death seems less of an end than a beginning.


End file.
